The Hours are foul.
The Sun Sets.
I must begone from
this hell,
and off to a place
of rest.
So I bid the adieu,
and move on to the night
anew.
7/27/10
Foul Hours Before the Sweet Embrace of Night
Posted byJames J Jackson, JrPosted inart, Authors, Blogging, Change, commentary, Culture, Death, Empathy, Future, Gonzo, History, Hope, identity, Justice, Knowledge, literature, Love, Marijuana, Mindfulness, Nature, Peace, philosophy, Poem, Poems, Poet, poetry, Poets, Psychedelic, self expression, Sex, Sexuality, short stories, short story, Society, stream of consciousness, Time, Uncategorized, War, Writers, WritingTags:Authors, literature, Nature, night, poem, poems, poet, poetry, Poetry Blog, poets, self expression, sex, stream of consciousness, writer, Writers, writing
Published by James J Jackson, Jr
I'm a poet and leftist political organizer from Sacramento, CA. View more posts
